My Time On Earth
by LostInKaos
Summary: Forgetting your past is one thing, but forgetting your memories is an entirely different thing. Forgetting your world, as well as yourself, is a horrifying thought. Eventual Character Death
1. Chapter One

Story: My Time On Earth

Author: LostinKaos

Summary: Forgetting your past is one thing, but forgetting your memories is entirely different thing. Forgetting your world, as well as yourself, is a horrifying thought.

Disclaimer: I do not own RENT. It is not my creation. I am not that brilliant. I am simply borrowing the characters before wiping their memories of any events I involve them in and returning them to their original form.

Author's Note: I know I already have many stories started and one that I'm actively working on, but I couldn't avoid posting this story any longer. This story is based on an event that occurred in my life with a person that I knew quite well. I started writing this story around the 4 ½ year anniversary of this person's death. I have learned from the past that my forte is writing unhappy stories. For some reason death is a great topic for me to portray in my writing. I also decided that after all these years my friend needed his story to be told so I figured RENT and its characters would be the easiest way to tell his story. This will not be a happy story. There more than likely will not be a happy ending. There will be a **CHARACTER DEATH** in this story. So, without further ado, this story is written in loving memory of my friend, Larry, who passed away August 7, 2004.

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**My Time On Earth**

**Chapter One**

It was late at night while Mark resided in bed staring blankly at the ceiling. After almost two years it was still hard to wrap his mind around the concept of his life. He knew his life had never been easy, especially not since becoming friends with Roger, not that he would trade being Roger's friend for anything. He had seen and been through things that many people should never have to see or go through. The worst of all was occurring in his life at this very moment in time.

Mark reached up and rubbed the back of his head. A shudder ran through his body as he thought about how close his hand was to the one thing that was not only changing his world, but his life.

He remembered the day when Angel had cornered him and told him to go to the hospital. He hadn't listened at first. He told her she was crazy and that there was nothing wrong with him. He had just been zoning out a lot lately. It wasn't anything to worry about. However, Angel was worried. The next day she had literally dragged him to the hospital while Collins and Roger were out.

Mark remembered sitting in the waiting room. He remembered the doctor asking him questions. He remembered Angel sharing her thoughts on what she thought was wrong. He remembered the doctor's questioning look before writing out a name and sending them else were. He remembered going through the testing that they wanted to do. Angel had told him to do everything they wanted, and he did. The worry on her face had caused a lot of dread to grow in the pit of Mark's stomach. It wasn't until a week later when he and Angel sat in the doctor's office did that dread grow into absolute numbness.

Angel had wrapped her arms around Mark and held him close as the doctor's words sank into him. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. There was no way, not after everything he had gone through, that he would accept this new fate that had been thrown at him. He out right refused. Mark remembered telling the doctor that he had to be mistaken, but from the look on the doctor's face Mark knew that he wasn't. It was true. The paper in his hand which held his fate was clearly written out.

Mark had allowed the paper to fall from his hand and float to the ground. He could remember feeling Angel's arms around him, but he couldn't remember anything else. He didn't know what had happened from the time the paper hit the floor until Angel was wiping his cheek with her hand.

"It's okay honey." She had said. But it wasn't okay. It would never be okay. He knew from that moment on that Roger, or anyone else for that matter, was to never find out. It had taken a lot of arguing, but finally Angel had given in. She remained silent and the information of Mark's fate went with her to grave not eight months later.

Knowing he would never be able to sleep, Mark removed himself from his bed and headed into the living area of the loft. He sat down by the window and looked up at the sky. He couldn't see any stars. No one could see stars in New York. It just didn't happen. While he looked at the light polluted sky he zoned out once again. However his zoning out wasn't normal. He didn't randomly remove himself from the world and thought about things without knowing it. His zoning out meant that he forgot everything. It drove him crazy that one moment he was himself and the next moment he couldn't remember anything past a few seconds ago. These moments never lasted long and before long he remembered everything again. However these moments were getting more frequent and they were making it hard to hide from Roger. He was beginning to catch on that something was wrong.

Roger woke up hours later and walked out of his room to find Mark sitting by the window looking up at the sky. Mark hadn't done that in while; at least not since before Angel had died.

"Mark, you okay?" Roger asked from his spot near his bedroom door.

Mark turned to look at Roger with blank eyes and a slightly confused look on his face. A moment later Mark shook his head quickly and then looked at Roger with tired eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You didn't look like it."

"I'm fine, Rog. Just tired." Mark said turning back to the window. He ran his hand through his hair and shuttered when his hand came in contact with the back of his skull.

"Then go back to sleep. We're going to Life tonight, remember." Roger said walking into the 'kitchen' to make a cup of coffee.

Mark stared after Roger with a confused look on his face. They were going to the Life? When? Why? He didn't remember making those plans. It didn't matter that he hadn't been remembering everything recently, that wasn't the point. The point was he didn't remember _this_.

"Mark, earth to Mark." Roger said standing in front of the filmmaker as he tried to hand him a mug. Mark looked up at him. _When did he get there?_ Mark took the mug from Roger's hand, but didn't drink any. He couldn't figure out why he was zoning out so much today. It never happened this much before. Mark knew this wasn't good. If he kept zoning out it was going to become harder to hide from Roger. He had to keep it from Roger at all costs.

Mark placed his untouched mug down on the bench and removed himself from the same room as Roger. He needed to be alone to think and he certainly couldn't think if Roger was in the same room as him looking at him strangely every five seconds. This really wasn't good.

Mark dug under his mattress for the many pamphlets he and Angel had gathered after he had been diagnosed. Looking through them he realized that he was, indeed, reaching the end of his time frame. His memory loss was becoming more frequent, just like the doctor and Angel said it would. This also meant that it was becoming harder and harder to hide from Roger. _Shit_.

He returned the pamphlets back to their hiding place and leaned against the wall. Pulling his knees up to his chest he rested his head on them and sighed. Where was Angel when he needed her? He could go visit her, it was October after all. No one would question his need to go visit her. It's been almost a year since she passed. Mark was almost certain Collins would be doing the same thing.

Mark was about to stand up and go do just that, when a knock arrived on his door. Mark froze. It could only belong to one person. "Mark." Roger was at his door. _Fuck_. It was getting harder to be around Roger and he didn't want to be around him until he had a plan. "Mark, open the door." _Double Fuck_.

He stood up and walked to the door before slowly opening it. He hoped his memory would last for this encounter. "Maureen just called. She wants to spend the day with everyone. They'll be here in a little bit." Roger said. _When did the phone ring?_ Mark wondered. He hadn't even heard the phone ring and even though he was forgetting thing he was pretty sure he would have remembered that.

"How soon is a little bit?" Mark asked opening his door the rest of the way and looking at Roger, who was still clad in his PJ pants and t-shirt.

"I'd say within the hour. It will take her some time to call everyone and to get ready." Roger said turning away from Mark's room and heading toward his own room.

"This is true." Mark said. Roger just nodded his head before disappearing into his room and closing the door. Mark sighed and closed his own door. _So much for leaving the loft and going to visit Angel. _

Once again he ran his hand through his hair and once again he shuttered. Grabbing a few clothes he headed into the bathroom for a shower. He hoped the warm water would help him think.

Mark placed his glasses on the counter before removing his shirt and tossing it haphazardly on the floor in front of the door. His PJ pants followed soon after. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. His short blonde hair was a mess, but that was from tossing in bed and constantly running his hand through it. His ice blue eyes were blood shot, but that went with the lack of sleep the past few nights. His cheek bones were hollow, a sign that he hadn't eaten much recently.

He ran his right hand over his chest, feeling the light dusting of too blonde hair that resided there, and down to rested his hand on his slightly concaved stomach. He hadn't been eating much, and it was starting to show. His left hand came to rest on one of his jutting hip bones. He was glad his pants hide that for the most part. He was easiest the small of them all. Unlike the rest of them, he didn't need to stay as healthy in regards to his sickness.

Closing his eyes he ran both hands over his face before turning away from the mirror. He stripped out of his boxers and discarded them with the rest of his clothing. He turned the water on and stepped in before waiting for it to adjust.

The sudden feel of cold water shocked him fully awake, but as the warm water started to flow over his body, his mind started to drift. He still had no idea how to avoid Roger without fully avoiding him or give away that he was avoiding him. It was a complicated circle with no end.

The warm water soothed his tired body and relaxed his tense muscles. If only the water could relax his brain, then everything would be perfect for the moment. However it was not to be.

It wasn't long until Mark turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He avoided looking in the mirror and wrapped a towel around himself before grabbing his glasses and discarded clothes and making a mad dash into his room. Luck was on his side because Roger was still within his own room.

Mark dried off quickly before slipping on a clean pair of boxers and dressing in a pair of worn and faded jeans and a red sweater. He ran the towel through his wet hair before discarding that on his bed. Placing his glasses on his face he found a pair of socks and his shoes before exiting his room.

Clean and fully awake he was ready to take on the day and hopefully that involved finding a way to deal with Roger and not zoning out.

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A/N: Please me know what you think. Thanks!


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to get out. Spring semester ended and then I jumped right into Summer Session One and I haven't had time to work on this story.

Some have asked what Mark has. All I can tell you is you'll find out when Roger does, which, as long as nothing changes, is planned for the next chapter. I have no idea when the next chapter will be out, but I'm hoping it won't be months.

Thanks for your patients and now, on with the story!

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**Chapter Two**

Just as Roger had guessed, Maureen and the others had arrived within the hour. It amazed Mark how they could all sit around the loft like nothing was wrong when all Mark wanted to do was escape the loft and just think. However, he couldn't accomplish that so he just remained in his spot on the metal table while everyone else conversed.

Collins was lounging in the chair with the paper cup of stoli in his hand. It didn't matter what time of the day it was, Collins would always drink. Roger, with Mimi in his arms, was leading against the back of the couch chatting quietly to Joanne, who sat on the other side of the couch with Maureen in her arms.

Mark marveled at how calm they all were, with the slight exception of Collins who was silent. Mark understood his need to be quiet. It was, after all, almost a year since Angel had passed away. He was surprised that Collins was here instead of visiting his Angel.

Mark remained on the table and continued to watch his friends. He hoped that he could make it through the day without bringing attention to himself and his worsening condition, which no one knew about. This, however, wasn't to be.

Suddenly Mark's stomach started to churn. He closed his eyes and started to breathe slowly through his nose, hoping the nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away. The feeling started to go away so he reopened his eyes and looked around the room. Apparently no one noticed his change, which was good in his book.

Mark went back to watching his friends and ignoring the rising bile in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't ignore it long. Within a single moment he was off of the table and running to the bathroom room with the sound of Roger's voice calling after him.

He buried his head in the porcelain bowl and heaved everything out of his stomach, which wasn't much. Dry heaves started to ransack his body and the pain was excruciating. His body was shaking and he hurt. Oh god, did he hurt. Tears started to streak down his face as he continued to dry heave. _Kill me now_. He pleaded for the pain to stop.

A comforting hand appeared on his forehead while another started to gently rub his back. It could be any number of people, but he would know the callused hand on his forehead anywhere. Roger. It amazed him, as he continued to dry heave, that Roger was the first one at his side when he was sick when Roger couldn't even take care of himself half the time.

Slowly the heaves started to stop as well as the tears that were pouring down his face. The hands that resided on his upper body moved to his shoulders and pulled him away from the toilet. Mark draped himself over the side of the toilet while Roger walked away. The sound of the water running in the sink told Mark that Roger hadn't gone far.

"Here" Roger said as a cup of water was placed within his view. With a shaky hand Mark took hold of the cup of water and rinsed out his mouth once before slowly drinking the remaining water. "You okay?" Roger asked kneeling down in front of his best friend.

"Yeah, it was probably something I ate." Mark said not looking at Roger.

"Considering the contents of the toilet" he flushed said object after say that "and the lack of food in the loft, I highly doubt that." Mark could only groan as he rested his head against the rim of the toilet. Why was keeping things from Roger so hard? The man was smarter than he let on. "Have you been outside without a coat again?" Roger asked leaning forward to help stand Mark up.

"Maybe" Mark said as he allowed Roger pick him off of the floor.

"If you're getting sick, then you'll yell at me for being around you, so we're just going to keep you from getting sick." Roger said helping to lead Mark out of the bathroom. "Let's put you back in bed."

Mark could only nod his head. If he was in his room he could stay away from Roger. Besides, if Roger thought he was coming down with something then Roger would stay away, which would give Mark more time to think.

Roger pushed Mark gently onto the bed so he could sit down. Mark kicked off his shoes before crawling into bed. "I'll get Collins to buy some food so you can eat when you feel better. You know where to find me if you need me." Roger said before exiting the room and closing the door. Mark heard the voices of his friends, more than likely questioning about him, float into the room.

Suddenly Mark sat up in bed and listened to the voices. Did he know the people who were talking on the other side of this door? He had to know them. Why would they be in the same loft as him if he didn't know them? Mark threw his palms over his eyes and squeezed them tightly as he tried to remember. He had to know the people. The deep booming voice was familiar, but he couldn't place a name or a face to the voice. The high pitched loud one was also familiar, but once again a name and face evaded him. Frustrated, Mark threw himself face down into his pillow. He knew these people; he just had to know them.

As suddenly as he had forgotten them, he remembered them. The quite voice of Mimi floated into his room followed by Roger's deeper voice. He didn't know what they were saying, but he knew the voices; he knew the faces; he knew the names. Mark reached under his mattress and once again removed the pamphlets he and Angel had collected.

_Symptoms change depending on location_. That's all Mark was ever told. Every doctor, every pamphlet, every book all said the same thing. It all depended on location. He knew the location. Of course he did. He flinched every time his hand touched the general area. _Memory loss_. That was the most common. He certainly had memory loss; he just hoped his won't escalate anymore. Random bouts he could do, but constant memory loss was not something he was willing to have happen. _Nausea_. He had never taken that into consideration but after what just happened he wasn't going to cross that out anymore. _Symptoms escalate with time_. That _wasn't_ something he wanted to know. He was doomed to think that he could keep it from Roger.

Sighing loudly he shoved the pamphlets back under his mattress and buried his head in his pillow. Where was Angel when she was needed? _Gone_. The irony of life was showing its ugly head and Mark didn't like it at all.

The sound of the loft door sliding open made Mark stop and listen. He hadn't heard anyone walking around so maybe it was someone coming in, but that didn't make sense. They were all here, except Benny, but he didn't come around very often, at least not without calling first. The phone hadn't rung so it must be someone leaving.

"You coming, Roger?" a voice asked. It was the first voice loud enough for Mark to hear through his closed door. He figured they had been talking about him and as such had been quiet.

"I don't think so." Roger replied.

"Come on, Rog. It's not going to kill you to leave the loft." A deep booming voice that could only belong to Collins said. _Yes, go._ Mark loved Roger dearly, but he didn't want to be around him at all right now. He needed his best friend to leave. He needed time to think. Thinking wasn't happening much for him, but maybe if Roger was gone, he would be able to think.

"It may not kill me…" Roger's voice drifted off and Mark could picture Roger looking toward the closed door to the filmmaker's room.

"He'll be fine." Collins said. Footsteps echoed off the floor as someone, more than likely Collins, moved.

"I don't know, Tom." Roger said.

"It will be fine. It won't be more than a few hours at most." Collins said.

"I'll be downstairs. I have to work tonight." Mimi's soft voice said.

It was silent for a moment before Collins broke it with a happy exclamation. Apparently Roger had agreed to go with them, wherever it was they were going. The sound of more footsteps could be heard before there was a quiet knock on the door.

"Mark"

No response. If he stayed quiet, Roger would, hopefully, think he was asleep and just leave a note on the counter before leaving.

Another knock.

"Mark"

No response. More footsteps could be heard before a ruffling noise which could only mean coats were being put on before the sound of the loft door closing.

Silence echoed through the loft. Mark didn't move. He remained quiet. He wanted to make sure that everyone was removed from the loft.

One minute; nothing.

Two minutes; nothing.

Five minutes; nothing.

Ten minutes; nothing.

Mark finally removed himself from his bed and opened the door.

The loft was empty, just as the past ten minutes of silence had told him. Roger's leather jacket was missing from the back of the couch. If what Collins had said was true, then they would be gone for a few hours and that's what Mark needed at this moment.

Mark opened the door to Roger's room and slowly made his way toward the bed. There were so many memories and promises held in this room. Roger's fender guitar rested on the bed where it had been placed before everyone had arrived this morning. Clothes were thrown everywhere, as was Roger's habit. Sometimes Mark felt more like a maid than a roommate when it came to Roger and laundry day. And then Mark saw it. Residing on the top of Roger's old falling apart dresser was a new, still in its sterilized packaging, needle.

He remembered freaking out on Roger when he had brought the thing home. It wasn't until Roger said that he needed it as a reminder of what he had done; the hell he had put not only himself, but others through. He needed the reminder to help him move on. It was the first time Mark had been extremely proud of his roommate. He'd been proud of Roger before, but that was certainly ranking up there with things like getting clean.

Mark picked up the old framed picture that resided next to Roger's bed and smiled slightly. The picture was of the two of them when Mark had first moved in. They had become friends instantly. He didn't know how he had lived all those years without Roger in his life. They completed the other. It amazed everyone considering Roger had been the reason the previous three roommates had run out.

Setting the picture back down Mark sank onto the edge of Roger's bed. The old frame that Collins had found in a dumpster one day was really beginning to show its age; and mattress wasn't much better. Roger had opted for the older of the two mattresses Collins had found shortly after Mark moved in. Mark still didn't understand why. It was usually better not to question Roger.

_Roger_. What was he going to do about him? The concept of hiding this from Roger was becoming more difficult. He was becoming worse. Mark was down to two options: tell Roger or leave. _I can't do either_. Mark buried his head in his hands. Silent tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. No matter what happened, Roger would get hurt.

So many memories. So many promises. How could he give any of them up? He was the one who was ill, but it was Roger that would pay the price. Roger would, once again, be hurt. It didn't matter that Roger was already dying from AIDS. It didn't matter that his girlfriend had committed suicide in their bathroom. It didn't matter that Mimi had practically died in his arms. It didn't matter that he watched his fate play out through Angel. None of this mattered because fate and irony were playing cruel tricks on him. It didn't matter because regardless of what Roger had already gone through, he was going to go through more. Only this time, Mark knew, Roger wouldn't have his best friend at his side. This time, Mark would be gone, and Roger would face the world alone.

So many memories. So many promises. All of them wasted because Roger was going to be alone. Roger was going to be the one to survive. No matter what Mark did, Roger would be the main victim and that made Mark sick to his stomach. Within moments Mark was out of Roger's room and once again had his head in the toilet bowl. One thing was certain: Mark was going to the doctor tomorrow.

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Thanks for reading! Please review!


	3. Chapter Three

Author's note: I've recently become enthralled with writing this story. I have a next few chapters written, but I'm not going to update again until I get another one written. Which at the rate I'm going isn't going to take too long.

You finally discover what Mark has in this chapter. Please note that if you look up information on it things will be different than what is in my story. The reason: I'm basing this off of what happened with my friend.

Also, the conversation with Collins wasn't originally in this chapter. A friend reminded me that I had mentioned having an argument between Mark and Collins and I couldn't pass it up so I placed it in the best spot for it. I didn't want to re-write the chapter just to fit the fight in there. If it's a little messed up and hard to follow that's why. One day I'll come back and fix it, right now I just want to write.

Sorry for any mistakes. I'm dyslexic.

Without farther ado, the next chapter.

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**Chapter Three**

The trip to the doctor's office was uneventful. Mark had left before Roger had awoke so there wouldn't be any questions asked. He had left Roger a note saying that he had gone out and would be back within a few hours. Before he had left the loft Mark had written on a piece of paper where he was going, the address, and any other information he may need, and shoved it in his pocket. On the walk to the doctor's office he had kept the paper firmly in his hand. He was afraid that he would zone out while on his way and hoped the paper would help him get there safely. Luck was on his side because he didn't zone out once.

The wait in the doctor's office was long and annoying. After a while he was shown into an examination room where he waited a while more. A nurse dealt with all the basic things such as weight, height etc, before leaving the room. Once the doctor arrived they started to talk. The Doctor, Dr. Kekic, listened while Mark explained what had been occurring. Dr. Kekic took notes through it all before starting to tell Mark what she expected from the information she had been informed of. It was as bad as when the diagnosis paper had been placed in his hand nearly two years ago. Only this time, there was no Angel to comfort him.

"_With what you've been telling me, Mark, I can't say that the outlook is good. The only comfort I can give you now is that you've had this for almost two years and most don't live past six months." She had paused before locking eyes with Mark. "Unfortunately, there is nothing left to do but wait for the slow decline to the end. Any help I would love to give you isn't possible with its location."_

She had then left Mark with a number to call if he needed anything when his health declined more, and that was all she was able to do for him. There was little left that could be done to help Mark.

With another paper, holding the loft's address, held tightly in his fist Mark began the long slow walk back to the loft. He didn't know what to do. The options were still the same: tell Roger or leave. Neither of which was looking very appealing at this moment. Once again, in the end, Roger ended up hurt.

Mark's choice, however, was taken from him when he arrived home to the loft to find Roger sitting on the couch looking agitated. Roger had been worried. Mark barely had to look at his roommate to know this was the case.

"Roger, I'm fine. I just went for a walk. After yesterday I figured some fresh air would help, and it did." Mark said as he removed his coat and draped it over the back of the chair.

"Not the point Mark." Roger said watching Mark's every move. It amused Mark that Roger had a tendency to be a mother hen when it came to Mark's location.

"Then what is the point?" Mark asked looking into Roger's olive green eyes. Roger remained silent. "That's what I thought. Look, Roger, it's okay. So I was randomly sick for a moment. It hasn't happened sense." at least not that Roger was aware of. The second incident was not to be repeated by anyone, and as Mark was the only witness, it wasn't likely that it would get out.

Mark turned to head into his room to think some more when Roger's voice stopped him. "Mark, you will tell me if something is wrong, right?"

Mark couldn't answer; he only nodded his head slightly before ducking into his room and closing the door. He hated lying to Roger. He knew it wasn't a full lie because regardless of if he chose to leave or not, he would end up telling Roger. He owned him that much. Some would say Mark didn't owe Roger anything, but from Mark's point of view, Mark owned Roger the world.

More silence fell through the loft as Mark resided in his room and Roger resided elsewhere. Nine times out of ten he was more than likely in his room playing if random cords floating into Mark's room were anything to go by.

Roger was unhappy, that much was certain. He knew something was wrong with Mark, Mark just didn't know how much Roger knew, and if the frustrated cords drifting from Roger's room were any indication, he didn't know much.

For Mark, the urge to tell Roger the truth was weighing heavily on his mind, however, the urge to keep Roger from getting hurt was heavier. Once again, it didn't matter because regardless of what he chose to do, Roger was still the victim.

The sick churning in Mark's stomach returned, yet again, for the second day. Breathing slowly through his nose and curling up in the fetal position only did so much for him. This time, however, a pounding migraine accompanied the sick churning feeling which was only adding to the need to hurl. Quickly as he could, without making it too much worse, Mark stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom.

"Mark?" Roger called from his room. Apparently Roger had heard the noise Mark made trying to get to the bathroom.

Mark couldn't answer for at that moment the contents, or lack thereof, from his stomach made their presence known. Yet again his head was buried in the toilet bowl. The cool feel of the porcelain did little to sooth him, but the cold hand that once again rested on his forehead did wonders.

Dry heaves started to shake his body to the point where he felt like he was trying to remove his colon through his stomach. The worst part was it was going to get worse. The nauseating feeling wouldn't start to lessen anytime soon. Another hand started to gently rub his back while the other soothed his forehead. For everyone else this would seem very out of character for Roger, but for Mark this was the gentle side of Roger that only he knew.

The heaving stopped and Roger gently moved him away from the toilet. Mark sank onto the floor and placed his head in his hands. The throbbing pain in his head was a multitude of times worse than it had been before.

"Mark?" Roger asked quietly. The slight ruffle of clothing told Mark that Roger had moved closer to his position on the floor. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a really bad migraine." He hoped this was enough information to get Roger to leave it alone and not ask any more questions. Luckily, it worked for the time being.

"Let's get you out of here and back into bed." Roger said attempting to help Mark up.

"Is that your answer to everything?" Mark asked as he allowed Roger to help him up. Once he was on his feet he started to sway due to the dizziness caused by his migraine.

"It's always worked for me." Roger said as he stabilized the unsteady man before him. "I'll also find some pain killers for you." Mark could only nod his head slightly as Roger led him from the room.

The two of them headed out of the bathroom and towards Mark's room. Mark sat down on his bed where he preceded to curl up in the fetal position. "You know, I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them you actually have a soft side." Mark said laughing quietly, which turned out to be a bad idea because his head started to pound more.

"You're right, no one would believe you. Besides, I'd deny it." Roger said smiling slightly before exiting the room. Mark concentrated on the sound of Roger's footsteps as he walked around the loft. Mark hoped that by ignoring the throbbing in his head it wouldn't hurt so much. No such luck. He heard the sounds of things being moved, of water running and the footsteps once more. The footsteps grew louder until they stopped next to his bed.

"Here" Roger said handing a glass of water and two pills to Mark. Mark reluctantly sat up and downed the pills as well as the glass of water. Roger took the glass back as Mark curled up on the bed once more. Mark heard the sound of Roger's retreating footsteps and the light sound of the door as it was closed behind him. He listened to Roger make noise in the loft for a while before the all too familiar frames of 'Musetta's Waltz' drifted to his ears. The cords of Roger's favorite song slowly lauded him to sleep where he was finally free of the throbbing pain in his head.

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The weeks went on. The leaves started to change colors and fall. Halloween came and went. October changed into November. And Mark continued to get worse.

Mark's routine of constantly being sick around Roger continued, much to his dismay. By the time they entered into the third week of this routine, Roger was starting to worry a lot more than normal. He didn't leave the loft as much anymore, if at all. He kept an eye on Mark like a hawk watches its prey. Roger had even gotten Collins involved. Mark was at a dead end. He was running out of time in which to come up with a solution.

Mark's random bouts of nausea kept occurring, but they were starting to come more frequently some days, but other days not at all. Mark's migraines had returned full force in the following weeks. They left Mark dizzy and slightly nauseous. To top it all off, his moments of zoning out were becoming more frequent to the point where he had once forgotten who he was entirely. Once he had remembered everything he freaked out. The last thing he could do was randomly forget. Even worse, randomly forget Roger. That could only lead to a conversation he didn't want to have. However, everything led to a conversation he didn't want to have.

The beginning of November found Mark standing on the fire escape trying to think of something to do. He needed to tell Roger, he knew he had to, but he couldn't. He couldn't hurt his best friend.

"Hey, Mark!" a voice called up to him from the street below. Looking down over the railing and toward the ground below him he saw none other than Tom Collins standing there looking back up at him. "Throw down the keys!"

Mark pulled his keys out of his pocket and threw them down to his waiting friend. He watched as Collins used the keys to enter the building. He counted the seconds it took before the loft door slid open and closed. He heard the footsteps inside the loft and finally the window open onto the fire escape and the window close.

"What's up, Mark?" Collins asked leaning onto the rail beside Mark.

"Nothing."

"Where's Rog?"

"He went to a bar to see about a job. He'll be gone for a while." Mark replied as his eyes followed the raising smoke from somewhere within the city. The swirling white cloud of smoke moved off and into the sky. Free of where it had come from. Free from everything. _Free_ Mark thought _One day, I'll be free, just like Angel_.

"Good, you and I need to talk." Collins said grabbing a hold of Mark's arm and hauling the smaller man back into the loft behind him.

"What the hell, Collins?" Mark exclaimed as he was dragged through the loft. "Had I know this was going to happen, I wouldn't have let you in."

Collins shoved Mark down on the couch and stood before the smaller man. Collins had always been a great friend and confidence when Roger and Mark needed someone and they couldn't go to the other. At this point in time, however, Mark wasn't thrilled to see Collins. At least, not anymore.

"When are you going to tell him?" Collins asked crossing his arms across his chest.

Mark froze. _What?_

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Mark stammered. Collins couldn't know. He just couldn't.

"When" he spoke much slower "are you going to tell Roger the truth?" Collins was obviously not playing games. There was no beating around the bush. He wanted a straight answer.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't lied to Roger." Which, in a sense was true.

"Maybe not full out lied, but you have omitted things, important things, and if you don't tell him soon, I will. I've watched you for over a year Mark and I've noticed how you have gotten worse. Now that you've been sick and worrying Roger to death, you still haven't told him. He came to me the other day almost in tears because he doesn't know what's wrong with you. You can't keep hiding this from him. So I ask again, when are you going to tell him?" Collins almost yelled.

Mark lowered his head and looked at the ground. There was only one way that Collins would know. _Angel_. "What did Angel tell you?"

"Honestly, nothing other than to watch out for you and keep an eye on you. She told me that you would never ask for help until it was too late. At first I thought she was talking about her dying and how you clam up from the world when your emotions get to be too much. But then I started to watch you. I noticed it wasn't just her dying that was affecting you. There was something else. Something bigger. So I started to watch for signs. Nothing registered until you started to get really sick. I still haven't been able to pin point what it is, but it's something. Not only do I want to know, I want you to tell Roger."

"It's a lot harder to tell Roger than you think." Mark commented quietly.

"Mark, do you have AIDS?" Collins asked as he finally sat down on the coffee table in front of Mark.

Mark's head jerked up to look at his friend. "No! Why would you think that?"

"You've been sick. A lot. It's as if you haven't been taking medication for something and it's casing your health to decline faster." Collins replied.

"No, Collins, I do not have HIV or AIDS."

"Then why is it so hard to tell Roger?" Collins asked.

Mark lowered his head to the ground again. He wouldn't tell. He couldn't tell. No one was meant to know except him and Angel and she was dead. He was suppose to take this to his grave, no matter how soon that would be, and no one was meant to know. No one. Not Collins. Not Joanne. Not Mimi. And especially not Roger.

"If you can't tell Roger, then tell me." Collins said.

"I can't. I won't. Only Angel and I know. It went to the grave with her and it will go with me." Mark said.

"Why did Angel know?" Collins asked.

"She's the one that convinced me to go to the hospital. She's the one that told me to get checked out. She's the one who held me when I got the results back. She's the one who promised to take it to her grave. And she did, for the most part." Mark said.

It was silent for a moment before something registered in Collins' mind and he spoke yet again.

"You're dying, aren't you?" Collins said quietly.

Mark just looked up into Collins' brown eyes. The look on Collins' face told Mark that his own eyes had given away the truth. The shocked and sorrowful expression told it all. Collins now understood. He didn't know what Mark had, but he understood the truth. Mark was dying. Faster or slower than himself? He didn't know, but he assumed from the look in Mark's eyes that the filmmaker would be gone before long.

"My god, it's true. How long?" Collins asked.

Mark couldn't reply. Regardless of what he said it didn't matter. Collins knew what was happening. He didn't know why, but he knew.

"It doesn't matter how long I've known or how long I have left. The fact remains the same." Mark replied quietly. It's all he could say. It's all that would matter. The time frame didn't matter. The inevitable end did.

"When are you going to tell him?" Collins asked.

"I'm not." Mark replied and then stood up. He walked toward the window and looked out at the free moving clouds of smoke yet again. "In the end it's still the same. Someone gets hurts. Someone forgets. Someone cries. Someone dies. Why let the inevitable end hang over their heads? Time will pass, as it always does, but one day, just like Angel, my heart will stop beating. But unlike Angel that time and day won't always be thoughts about. No one will constantly be wondering when the time will come. It will just come, and the pain won't last as long. Instead of hurting while I'm still alive, the hurt will only start after I'm gone. An unknown end is so much better than a known end. The less pain, the better."

"And how will Roger feel when he finds out latter that you knew all along that you're going to die? How will he feel when he discovers that you kept something like this from him? What about Roger?"

"He's the reason I'm not telling. Maybe he'll find out later and he'll hate me. If he does, then it will help him. He's been able to deal with anger better than grief anyway. Do you know how many times he's told me that he wished people didn't know he was HIV positive? They treat him different. He says I treat him different. I worry about him too much now that I know he has HIV. He hates it from time to time. I don't want him to worry about me. When the time comes, I'll go home to 'visit' my family. I'll just never come back. I've thought about this a lot, Collins. Anything I do, I do because of and for Roger." Mark said. His eyes still fixed on the white smoke.

"I think you're crazy. I'll known what really happened, and I'll tell him. You can't keep this from Roger. You have to tell him. If you don't, I will." Collins was dead serious and Mark could tell.

"If I haven't told him by my birthday, then you can tell him. But not before my birthday, do you understand?" Mark said finally turning to look at Collins.

"Christmas, by Christmas." Collins said.

"The first of the year." Mark said.

Collins sighed but gave in. "By the first of the year then. If you haven't told him before January first, I will."

"Okay"

"Okay"

---

The middle of November arrived and with it Mark's resolve. His conversation with Collins hung in his head. His reason for his birthday being the deadline was because he was hoping he wouldn't make it to his birthday, now however, he had a chance to live to see his 27th birthday. He had, once again, gone to see Dr. Kekic. The news he received left him with no choice. He had to finally tell Roger. He couldn't keep putting it off, or else Collins would tell Roger and Mark couldn't handle that.

"_There's nothing left to do for you, Mark. All that's left… is to wait. I'm sorry."_

Mark sat on the side of his bed with his head in his hands and his arms resting on his knees. He couldn't hide anymore. Roger had to know. It was just a matter of how. He knew Roger was currently in the loft playing guitar. He hadn't stopped playing since Mark really started to get sick. He knew it calmed the rock star, but it was starting to take a toll on Mark's nerves.

Slowly Mark stood up and walked over to his closet. He removed box after box of film from a pile until he came to the bottom one. He opened the lid to the box and pulled out roll of film after roll of film until he came to the bottom one labeled 'Roger's Withdrawal'. Opening the roll of film he lifted out a single folded piece of paper. The paper he now held in his hand had been in that same spot since he had placed it there almost two years ago. Besides Angel he was the only one who knew it was there.

Mark placed the paper on the floor before putting the film back in the box and putting the boxes back in his closet. He picked up the piece of paper, and without looking at it, for he knew what the paper said, he exited his room.

Roger looked up from his place beside the window and watched Mark walk across the loft to sit across from him. Mark took a deep breath and then sighed. This was going to be hard.

"Mark, you okay?" Roger asked setting his guitar down next to him and giving Mark his full attention. Mark had done nothing but avoid Roger for a while and now that he was seeking him out, Roger was going to pay attention.

"Roger, I have to be honest with you. I can't hide from you anymore. You need to know something." Mark said quietly with his head down and hands in his lap. The folded piece of paper was held loosely in one hand.

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to tell me." Roger said quietly. Mark looked up at him with a questioning look in his eyes. "In the past seven years that I've lived with you, you have only been sick twice. Both times lasted a grand total of three days. We're working on three weeks. What is going on?"

"Roger…" Mark started but trailed off. Mark was resigned to his fate. He knew what his future held, and he was okay with that. He just didn't know how Roger would respond, and that was what scared him. He was afraid of rejection. "Rog, I… I…" he sighed and looked away quickly before turning his gaze on Roger once more. "I have Glioblastoma Multiforme."

Roger looked at Mark with confusion written clearly on his face. "What?"

"Roger, I have a glio." He paused once more. "In laments terms, I have a brain tumor… and… it's killing me."

Mark visibly saw Roger freeze. Mark could deal with angry Roger. Mark could handle violent Roger, but Mark couldn't deal with silent Roger. This version of Roger was unpredictable, where the other versions Mark at least knew what to expect.

"How long have you known?" Roger asked quietly, his green eyes locked with Mark's blue.

Mark didn't answer; instead he handed over the paper he had dug out of his closet. He watched Roger unfold the paper and watched as his eyes scanned the sheet in front of him. Mark knew what was on the paper. He had it ingrained into his brain the first moment it had been handed to him.

Name: Mark Cohen; Date of Birth: January 16, 1965; Age: 25yrs; Sex: Male; Other random information that didn't matter much such as phone number and address; Diagnosis: Glioblastoma Multiforme; Date: February 12, 1990

Mark knew the moment Roger reached the date he was diagnosed. Roger froze and then looked up at Mark with a mix of emotions that Mark couldn't place.

"Since February last year? Almost two years?" Roger asked. Anger was starting to show and Mark knew how to deal with this type of Roger. "Why keep it from me for two years?" Roger almost yelled.

"Do you remember how you felt once everyone found out you were HIV positive?" Roger nodded. "That's why."

Roger had been treated like he was fragile; like he could break at any moment. It didn't matter that Collins was already HIV positive and had been for a while. They all, with the exception of Mark and sometimes Collins, had treated him like glass. Roger had hated it. It drove him crazy. He had told Mark many times he wished the others never knew. Mark understood completely.

"That's different. This is life threatening." Roger said indicating to the paper still in his hand.

"How is it different? Isn't HIV and AIDS also life threatening?" Mark retaliated, but quietly.

"Well, yes, but it takes years for AIDS to develop." Roger said.

"Rog, what do you know about glios?" Mark asked quietly.

"Nothing."

"Allow me to enlighten you." Mark said standing up. He walked into his room and retrieved the pamphlets he kept hidden. He returned and handed them to Roger. "You are right on one account so far, Rog. AIDS does take time to develop, years even. Most glios give you six months, at most. I've been lucky, however."

Roger wasn't looking at the pamphlets Mark had given him. He was focused on Mark, who was slowly pacing back and forth in front of him.

"I've had mine going on two years. Most don't live to see seven months. By all accounts I should have I died years ago, especially where mine is located."

"Located?"

"Symptoms depend on location. Mine is located at the base of my brain stem. It's buried within my brain and there is no way to reach it. It's the reason I've been ill. As the tumor grows and shifts it affects parts of my brain. The nausea is due to the random stress it's placing on my occipital lobe, or back part of the brain. The headaches are from the same thing. The random zoning I've been doing is due to something else. The tumor is slowly destroying my amygdala and hippocampus. Both of these are responsible for my memory, long and short term, as well as my emotional responses. My zoning is actually me forgetting, everything, for a moment or two. However, it's gotten worse. I don't always remember everything after I regain my memory. I'm losing my memory and it's becoming more and more frequent." He paused, stopped pacing and turned to look directly at his roommate. "Roger, I'm forgetting who I am."

Roger was silent.

Time passed.

Mark didn't move.

More time passed.

"How long…" Roger trailed off unable to say the words but looked up to meet Mark's eyes.

"…do I have left?" Mark finished for him. Roger just nodded his head. Mark sighed. "About… About three months."

"That's it?" Roger asked absolutely stunned that it was happening so quickly.

"Yes." One word. One simple word had made it final. Mark was dying and that was all there was to it.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note:

Thank you all for all your reviews. I have an announcement to make about this story. Unfortunately, I'm going to be putting **this story on hiatus** for the unforeseen future. It's not because I don't want to work on this story, it's that I can't bring myself to do it. My grandfather passed away earlier this month and writing about death just isn't something I can bring myself to do. On the bright side when I write again it will hopefully be very good and emotional. On the down side, it will be a long while before that update is made. Luckily this chapter was written a while ago so I decided to post this chapter with this annoucment instead of just posting an annoucment. It annoys me when people do that, but it's good to know why the story isn't being updated.

When I finally get back to my story, it will be a relief. I hate giving up stories, but for now, this needs to be done as a personal reason. I hope you all understand. Hopefully this chapter will sustain you all until I update again.

Once again, I thank you all for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to me. Now, on with the story.

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Chapter Four

Roger finally new the truth. He finally knew what was wrong with Mark; however he didn't understand anything involved with having a glio. He knew Mark was forgetting things and becoming increasingly ill, but that's all he knew. Mark was too afraid to tell him anymore. Roger had already been avoiding him for a few days and Mark could only imagine why.

Roger had never done well when it came to emotional pain. It's half the reason he started heroin, the other reason had died a few years ago. Mark knew, however, that the only way Roger could deal with things was to understand. He knew Roger would want to talk to him soon.

As if on cue, Roger appeared in the doorframe to Mark's room.

"Hey Mark, can we talk?" Roger asked as he walked over to Mark who was currently residing on his bed fumbling with the camera in his hands.

"Sure Rog, what's up?" Mark said turning to face his roommate. The sooner this conversation was dealt with, he sooner both he and Roger could prepare for what was to come: the end.

"I realized a while after you told me what was going on, that I know very little about you." Roger said taking a seat across from Mark.

Mark studied his friend for a moment before answering. "You know plenty about me, Rog."

Roger contemplated this for a moment. "True, I do know you, but I don't know what you want out of life now… now that yours is so much shorter than mine." Roger said look at the friend he has had for over seven years.

Mark had to smile to himself. Roger was only this way with him. He would only show his scared side to Mark. Only Mark knew of Roger's secrets. Also, only Mark knew how to make Roger feel better. "I'm content with how I am, Rog." Mark said with a smile.

"Mark," Roger said seriously, "I'm not even content and I have more time left than you." Roger pointed out the obvious. Mark internally flinched. How was he going to explain this so that Roger could, and would, understand?

"I don't need glory, Roger." Mark said as if that would explain it all. "I'm good with just having friends and family that care about me." Mark had always been a very simple person when it came to life. This is why he'd been able to survive living in New York with as little as he'd had.

Roger turned away from Mark and looked out of the window that resided in Mark's room. He could only see the building next to theirs, but it was better than looking at Mark. "I wish I can look at life that way." Roger said quietly.

Mark sighed. This conversation was not going where he wanted it to go. Roger needed to understand, not feel bad. If he felt bad about Mark's dying then Mark would never be able to leave this world peacefully.

"We are different, you and I, Rog." He said hoping he could make Roger understand. "I'm content to hide in the shadows and watch the world. You like to be the center of attention. It's all part of the rock star/filmmaker persona. You shine, I hide. It's simple. It's how I accept things so much easier than you." Mark said slowly. Maybe, just maybe Roger would understand.

Roger nodded his head but remained silent.

More silence

Slowly he turned back toward Mark. "Mark, is there anything you want to do before… before the end?" Roger was scared, and Mark could see it. Roger never showed fear, unless it was to Mark. Mark had always been the one to make sure the fear Roger had was gone, this time however, that wouldn't happen. Mark knew Roger was afraid. He knew what Roger was afraid of. The unspoken fear was in the air around them. Mark was dying, and Roger didn't know how to handle it. He was scared. For the first time ever Mark didn't know how to help Roger.

Mark sighed. There were always things that one wanted to done before the end, but most didn't happen. Mark had one thing he wanted, but it wouldn't happen no matter how much he tried. However, there was something else that would be just as good. It wasn't the same, but if he had it then the other wouldn't matter. "I just want to remember. I know I'm forgetting things. I hate it. I just want to keep my memories, but that's not going to occur. I can't stop my fading memory."

Roger nodded. It was his normal response when he didn't know what else to say. "I know that." He paused. "I'm talking about an event. Something you want to do before you no longer can."

Mark was silent for a moment before answering. _Should I tell him?_ He had always been torn when it came to this topic. The last time it had occurred another person had been present in their lives. That person was no longer here. For all Mark knew, it would do nothing but bring back horrid memories, but it couldn't hurt to mention it. "I've always wanted to see you back on stage."

"You remember that?" Roger asked shocked

Mark started to laugh. "There are holes in my memory, Roger, that's it. I still remember a lot." Mark said smiling. Sometimes Roger was absurd, but Mark wouldn't trade his best friend for anything.

Roger could only nod his head before continuing on seriously. "Would me being back on stage make you happy?"

"If anything it would remind me of what used to be" Mark said

"What used to be?" Roger questioned.

Mark sighed. Again with the explaining. "Back when it was just you and I. Back before April. Back before drugs. Back before AIDS and AZT. Before Angel. Before Mimi. When it was just us with occasional appearances by Collins, Benny and Maureen. Back when we first met. The time I was mugged in the city. The first fight we had. The first winter we froze together... Before you were sick. Before I was dying. Way back before the end started." Mark said. He really did miss the pass.

"But is our past really that bad?" Roger asked.

"No... It made us who we are. We can't change the past, but we can try to relive it." Mark replied.

Silence passed between the two friends. It was amazing how content they could be in the silence when they were together. However, Roger knew, that if they stayed in silence too long then any time he had left with Mark would be gone.

"I never realized how much you actually know about the world." Roger started. "I doubt I could ever have done that in a million years."

"You can do anything you want to Rog." Mark said looking at his best friend.

"True, but I'm not as perspective of things as you are. Maybe this is why I can't write songs." Roger commented.

"You can write them Roger. You wouldn't have 'Your Eyes' if you couldn't." Mark said with a smile.

"But look how long that took. Maybe I need help writing songs" Roger said seriously.

Mark laughed "Would you have accepted any?"

"From the right people" Roger challenged back.

Mark was silence for a moment. He knew Roger was insecure about a lot of things. Roger had always needed reassurance, and Mark was the one to all give it. He just hoped Roger would survive once he was gone.

"You'll be fine, Roger, you'll be fine." Mark said quietly.

Roger looked at his friend for a moment. "How do you know?"

Mark looked up at his friend and smiled. "I'm Mark, remember? I'm the witness. I watch things. I've know you 7 years and if you think I haven't watched you and figured you out, your dense." Mark chuckled

"That's a little weird" Roger commented.

Mark shrugged a little. "Honestly Roger, spend one day watching people and see what you notice."

"How?"

"Simple. You observe. Like right now, you're tense. It's either because you're worried or you have something on your mind. Your voice doesn't have its normally harsh sound to it, but you've never had that sound when you speak to me when no one is around. You're fidgeting, so something is bothering you because you never fidget. That's how." Mark finished.

Roger gaped at him. "You understand all that by watching?"

Mark nodded his head. "Yes. Try it. What do you see?"

Roger contemplated this for a moment and then looked at Mark seriously.

"You look pale and tired" Roger said quietly.

"When am I not pale?" Mark asked with slight humor in his voice.

"I mean more than usual. Normally you have a slight pinkish tint to your skin, but today it's white. You honestly look really ill today" Roger said watching his friend. Mark turned away from him and looked toward the blanket that was covering the bed.

"Maybe I shouldn't teach you to observe the world, least of all me" he said picking at the blanket.

"No, Mark, you're right. I don't usually pay attention and I miss things. I probably would have realized you we're ill sooner if I had looked but I didn't. Why?" Roger questioned.

"Not only am I good at observing, I'm good at hiding. The harder you try to find something I want hidden, the more hidden it becomes." Mark replied.

"But why hide this from me?" Roger asked making Mark look up at him.

"Would you have believed me had I told you when I first found out?" Mark asked. His blue eyes locked with Roger's green.

"Yes" Roger replied.

Mark snorted. "You're lying, Roger. You denied being HIV positive for months. Would you have honestly accepted and believed that I, the one who is meant to survive, would be dying before you?" Mark asked.

It was Roger's turn to look down now. "No, I wouldn't have"

"And I knew that. I know you better than you think, Rog." Mark replied quietly.

"But why you, Mark? Why?" Roger cried looking at his best friend. Mark was thin. He much more thin than before. Mark was truly sick and it hurt Roger to see him like this. It truly hurt.

"It's life's irony, I guess" Mark said with a shrug.

"How are you be so calm about this?" Roger cried out yet again.

"Because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel; the happy light, not the light of death." Mark said calmly.

"Which is?" Roger exclaimed. He didn't understand how Mark could find happiness in this situation.

"I won't be alone"

"What?" Roger almost yelled.

"Do you think I accepted your mortality easily? Do you think I was able to handle the fact that you and Collins and Mimi and Angel were all going to depart this world long before me? I think your death sentence was more of a blow to me than to you. Why do you think I told you that day that I'm the one of us to survive?" Mark, once again, had to make Roger understand.

"Because you were mad at me and throwing it in my face made you feel better..." Roger trailed off. He honestly had no idea, but it sounded good in his head. Now that the words were out, it didn't sound like something Mark would do.

"No, Roger, I said it because I hoped that if I said it out loud you would finally understand and you didn't. I have always been afraid of being the last of us. Since we met 7 years ago, have we ever been apart? We complete the other. You may not see it but I do. I dreaded living without you because I lived through you. The rock star lives in the limelight, the filmmaker hides in the shadow. The only time I hated living through you was when April was around. When she was around the Roger I knew and the Roger that completed me wasn't there anymore. But eventually you did come back, only with the knowledge that you would leave again, permanently, one day. I was scared to be the survivor. But now, I'm not the survivor anymore. I don't have that fear anymore. My new fear is to forget you and the others. I found the light at the end of the tunnel; I just have to hope I can remember it."

Roger was silent. How long had Mark been feeling like this? How long had this been going on? Roger had been a screw up for so many years, and Mark had always been there to fix his mistakes. It was now Roger's turn to help Mark, and help Mark he would.

"As long as I'm here and as long as you're here, I will do my best to keep you from forgetting, and if it means getting back on stage than I will. You've taken care of me for years. It's time I take care of you."

And he would. Oh how he would.

---

Mark stared at the phone for the longest time. He knew what he needed to do, but he didn't want to do it. He couldn't bring himself to make the phone call and listen to the voice on the other end. He just couldn't do it.

"I can always call them for you." Roger said from his place in the kitchen where he was leaning against the counter reading the paper Collins had brought with him the other day.

"Thanks, but I highly doubt she'd forgive me if I had you tell her." Mark said turning his attention back to the phone.

"She'd never forgive you if she didn't know until it was too late." Roger commented still reading the paper.

"Touché" Mark said. Sighing loudly he picked up the phone and dialed the number he didn't call enough.

One ring.

Roger moved from the kitchen to sit on the couch beside Mark.

Two rings.

Mark started to breathe a little faster at the prospect of the conversation he was about to have.

Three rings.

Mark was about to hang up with someone answered.

"Cohen residence." The voice said through the phone. It could belong to only one person.

"Hi, mom." Mark said.

"Mark? How are you?" Mrs. Cohen said happily into the phone. Mark never called enough.

"I'm… okay." Mark replied quietly.

"That doesn't sound good. Is something the matter? Is Roger sick? Did Maureen leave you again? Where you even dating Maureen again? What about Collins? Is he—"

"Mom, calm down." Mark said cutting her off. "Roger's fine. Maureen didn't leave me again. We weren't dating again. Collins is as fine as he can be considering the time of year."

Mark had told his mother about Angel and her passing away a year ago and how hurt Collins was. He also told her about Mimi being ill and Roger leaving. It was the first time Mark had talk to his mother so much since middle school. She had basically heard the story of his year in a few hours, and she had listened to it all without saying a word until the end. Mrs. Cohen and Mark had always been close when Mark was younger and she missed having her 'baby boy' share things with her.

"Then what's wrong?" Mrs. Cohen asked.

Mark paused. How do you break your mother's heart and survive?

"Mom, do you remember when I told you the story last year and I mentioned that Angel was helping me through some hard times before she passed away?" Mark asked his mother. This was harder than he ever wanted it to be.

"Yes, I remember. You had said you didn't know how you were going to get through things now that she was gone and Roger had fled the city."

"Well, that hard time has come back tenfold." Mrs. Cohen didn't reply. "Mom, I'm sick. Really, sick." Mark said as he waited for the questions he knew would follow.

"How sick? Have you gone to the doctors?" Mrs. Cohen asked going into full mother mode to make sure her son was healthy and well

"Very sick and yes I've gone to the doctors." Mark replied knowing no matter what he said he would end up hurting her.

"Are you getting treated?" More questions in regards to Mark's health.

"There is nothing they can do to help me." Mark replied quietly. He knew the worst part of the conversation was yet to come.

"Why not?" Mrs. Cohen asked.

Mark paused. The worst part was here.

"Mom, I love you, you know that right?"

"Yes, Mark, I know that, and I love you too. What's going on?" Mrs. Cohen asked. She was starting to get really worried and Mark could tell just by the sound of her voice.

"Mommy" Mark hadn't called her 'mommy' since he was five years old and most of time was when he was sick or scared "I'm dying."

Silence.

Mark heard the page of Roger's newspaper rustle as it was turned. He could hear his own breathing which was becoming more labored. He heard his mother's quiet breathing through the phone. A car horn blew on the street below. A person slammed the lid of a metal trash can. A dog barked in the distance. The old heater that never worked clanked and hissed in the corner of the room. The water dripped into the sink in the kitchen. The telephone in Mimi's apartment rang. There was no sound from the other end of the phone.

"Mom?" Mark asked quietly finally breaking the silence.

"How long?" Mrs. Cohen asked quietly.

"Have I known or I have left?" Mark asked.

"Both." Mrs. Cohen replied.

"Angel and I found out almost two years ago. I have about three months left." Mark said quietly.

"Two years and you never told me?"

"I didn't want anything to change."

"You couldn't even tell your own mother!"

"Had I told you then Roger or Collins would have found out because you would have been calling them about my health. I didn't want things to change, Mom. I'm happy with how they are." Mark pleaded with his mother.

"Then why did no one else inform me. Surely Roger must have realized what this would mean to me." Mrs. Cohen said.

"Roger didn't know until two days ago. I never told him. The only other person to know was Angel and she died a year ago."

"No one knew? What if something were to have happened to you? Who would have been able to save you? You could have died." Mrs. Cohen cried to her son.

"It wouldn't have made a difference. I was already dying. I am dying. It can't be stopped mom. There is nothing you or Roger or anyone can do about it. I'm dying, end of story. End of my story."

"That's it then?"

"I've accepted my fate, mom, and I am okay with it. I may not like it, but I'm okay with it. My time and my story are over. There is nothing left to be done, but wait."

---

And wait they did. November slowly turned into December, and they continued to wait and see. However the wait was really starting to take a toll on Roger. He hated to see Mark like this. He hated to see Mark slowly fade away into nothing. Mark knew this was hurting Roger and it was becoming more difficult for him to handle. He discovered how much it was affecting Roger when Mark discovered his roommate on the phone with his mother. Roger hadn't talked to his mother is ages, but now he was on the phone explaining everything to her. From the conversations it wasn't going very well.

Mark had only talked to his mother once more since that fateful phone conversation. She had made plans to come visit Mark around his birthday. She told her son that he was to survive that long because that was the only time she could make it out to New York. His family was going to visit his sister's family for Christmas and Mark refused the leave the loft because of his memory loss to go home for Thanksgiving.

Mrs. Cohen did make a point to call weekly to check up on Mark. However the past two times she had called, Mark had no idea who was on the phone and as such didn't answer. This scared Roger. Mark was forgetting, and fast.

Roger avoided conversations with Mark about his memory or sickness. He knew they needed to talk, but he couldn't see the point. For all he knew Mark wouldn't remember the discussion in a few hours.

Roger was getting to the end of his rope. He didn't know what to do to help Mark, so he did the only other thing he knew to do. He called Collins.

Mark sat in his room writing a few things down. He was forgetting more and there were some things he wanted to remember for a while longer. This was when Roger's voice floated in through the slightly open door.

"I don't know what to do, Tom." Roger said in almost a pleading voice.

Silence.

"I've wanted to, but every time I finally get around to it, I freak out. I know we need to talk but how much does he honestly remember." Roger said dejectedly

Silence.

"How? By asking questions?" Roger asked.

Silence.

"When you asked him? How did you know? He never told me and yet you knew?" Roger's temper was starting to rise. Mark knew this wouldn't end well.

Silence.

"Angel? Angel knew?" Roger was almost yelling now. Mark knew where this was going to go. Roger would hang up the phone and storm into his room wanting answers. Answers Mark wasn't sure he knew anymore.

Silence.

"He told her, but not me? I fucking live with him! That's it, we're talking now. Bye." Roger basically yelled before slamming the phone down.

Mark listened at Roger's footsteps came closer to his room.

The door to Mark's room flew open and an irate Roger stood in the doorway. "I just got off the phone with Collins because I don't know what to do. You know what he told me? He told me he already knew. He knew because Angel told him. Why the hell would Angel know, but not me?" Roger practically yelled at Mark.

Mark looked at Roger with a confused look. He knew Roger had been talking to Collins, and he knew Angel had been mentioned, but who was that? "Angel? Who's Angel?" Mark asked thoroughly confused. Roger was floored. Any anger he once held on his face was gone. It was replaced with resignation.

"You… you don't remember Angel?" Roger asked walking into Mark's room and sitting down on the edge of bed.

"No. I don't remember much beyond this past year." Mark replied quietly. He hated to admit that his memory was missing. Most of his memory was filled with holes.

"What is the farthest back you can remember clearly?" Roger asked.

Mark thought about this for a moment before answering. "I remember you returning from Santa Fe. Anything before that is sketchy."

"Do you remember your childhood?" Roger asked. Collins said to ask questions, and that's what he was going to do.

"No" Mark replied flatly.

Roger thought for a moment before asking randomly questions rapidly in succession.

"What about going to Brown?"

"Where?" Mark asked confused. _Brown? What is that?_

"College, do you remember that?"

"No"

"Do you know who Collins is?"

"Yes" Mark replied.

"Maureen?"

"Yes"

"Do you remember dating Maureen?"

"We dated?" Mark asked confused. He had dated Maureen?

"Yeah, then she dumped you for Joanne."

"Oh"

"Do you remember meeting Joanne?"

"No"

"Do you know Joanne?"

"Yes"

"What about Mimi? Do you know her?"

"Yes, she's you're girlfriend. We don't see much of her." Mark said.

"She's working most of the time." Roger replied. "Benny, do you know him?"

"Vaguely" Mark said struggling to remember the things Roger was asking.

"Do you remember April?"

"Who?"

"My ex-girlfriend, the one who committed suicide?"

"No, I don't know her."

"Do you remember what she gave me?"

"She gave you something?" Mark asked.

"Do you remember me being addicted to heroin?"

"You were addicted to heroin?"

"What about my withdrawal?"

"No, not at all"

"Do you know what Collins, Mimi and I have?"

"AIDS?" Mark asked skeptically.

"Yes." Roger paused. "Your family, do you remember your family?"

"Not really"

"Your mother, your father, your sister Cindy, your nephews, any of them?"

"I kind of remember my mother. She calls a lot. I don't know my father. I didn't know I have a sister and since when do I have nephews?"

"You have two of them. They are Cindy's sons. You haven't seen them in a few years." Roger relied. "Do you remember 'Today 4 U'?"

"My film?" Mark asked.

"Yeah"

"Yeah, I remember it. I don't remember making it, but I remember viewing it when Mimi almost died." Mark said.

Roger was quiet for a while. Talking about Mimi's near death was hard. However that was not the point of this questioning. The point was to discover what Mark remembered and what he didn't.

"Do you remember how to tango?" Roger asked.

"I know how to tango?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, you tangoed with Joanne." Roger said.

"I don't remember that." Mark said. "Look, Roger, I know this is hard for you, and I know I should have told you sooner, but in all honesty, this is hard for me too. I never remember anything and it's annoying and frustrating. I don't remember what made me who I am. It's hard, but I've come to except the fact that I'm losing my memory, and I'm dying. What I need right now isn't an interrogation. I need a friend. If dealing with me is too hard, then I can leave. I have no doubt in my mind that my mother, even though I don't remember her much, will still take me in and care for me. It's your call on whether I stay or go."

Roger was stunned for a moment before he recovered. "No Mark, I want you here. You aren't too much to deal with. Compared to what I've put you through in the past, this is relatively easy. I'm sorry about questioning you, but I don't fully understand, and I'm trying to. I don't know what you remember and what you don't. I don't know what to do half the time, but I'm not kicking you out. You live here in this loft until you don't live anymore. Okay?" Roger said.

"Okay." Mark replied quietly.

* * *

Author's Note: There you have it. The next chapter. Poor Mark.

Once again I want to remind you all that **this story is on hiatus** until I can bring myself to write again. Thank you all for your support.


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